


Into the Woods

by AttackOnMySoul8232



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: AU, Arthurian Lore, M/M, WWII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7445110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AttackOnMySoul8232/pseuds/AttackOnMySoul8232
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Knights of the Round Table are no longer knights at all, rather they're Heer Soldaten on the Eastern Front, 1942, in World War II. Gawain and Arthur escape into the woods for their socially illicit relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> The following work is actually a piece that I turned into my Arthurian Romance class. The class gave me an awesome opportunity to take some of my favorite characters from Arthurian Lore and transfigure them into a one of my favorite historical time periods. I had a lot of fun writing this. 
> 
> Hopefully y'all enjoy reading this! As always, feel free to comment or ask me a question. 
> 
> Also here's some vocab to hopefully help make it an easier read:
> 
> Soldat Soldier/Private  
> Obersoldat Senior Soldier/Private 1st class  
> Gefreiter Corporal/Officer Candidate 1st class  
> Obergefreiter Senior Corporal  
> Stabsgefreiter Staff Corporal (entrusted with supplies)  
> Roter Löwe Red Lion  
> Grüne Riese Green Giant  
> Mudak (Russian) A slur, similar to dumb ass, but more explicit  
> Fritz (Russian) A slur, used to shame Germans and their past  
> Liebling Love, sweetheart   
> Scheiβe Shit

On the Eastern Front – just outside the city of Kotelnikov

 

“Herr Gefreiter Gawain, will you not be joining us?” Obersoldat Kay called from a short distance away, seated by the fire pit with a few other lower ranked soldiers, desperately trying to ware off the frost of the Russian evening. 

“Nein, I think I’ll just take a walk around…” Gawain trailed off, staring off into the darkened woods, lost in thought. 

“You’ve gone mad!” Lancelot scoffed. “You can’t honestly think wandering off into the woods of this frozen shit hole is a good idea. Come sit by the fire, with the rest of us and warm yourself.”

“Lancelot!” Obersoldat Kay scolded, “That is no way to speak to a commanding officer.”

“It’s alright Herr Obersoldat” Gawain raised his hand, silencing Kay. 

“I’ll be warm enough if I keep moving. Kay…” Gawain trailed off looking back to the woods.

“Yes, Herr Gefreiter?”

“Keep these bastards out of trouble.”

Kay chuckled heartily “Yes, of course, Herr Gefreiter. Shall I wait up for you?”

“No, no. Get some rest, we will have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” With that Gawain turned and treaded across the icy ground towards the beckoning woods. 

***

“Herr Obersoldat, what is he doing?” A young Soldat named Galahad asked.

“What is who doing, boy?” Kay rolled his eyes at the younger man. 

“The Gefreiter, why is he wandering off into the woods at this time of night?” The boy leaned forward as if he was partaking in some sort of secret discussion. 

“It is not your place to question a commanding officer,” Kay narrowed his eyes, staring down the younger man. “Don’t go taking after Lancelot here,” he gave Lancelot a shake on the shoulder. “Trust me, he is enough trouble for this troop.”

***

“Roter Löwe,” Gawain called quietly into the woods. “Löwe are you there?”

“Jawohl, Grüne Riese, I’m here,” Arthur responded, a smile creeping onto his lips. “Was it difficult for you to slip away?”

“It never is. Even if it was, it would be worth it to see you.”

Arthur embraced Gawain, wrapping his strong arms around the smaller man, and pulling him close. Tenderly Arthur kissed Gawain and the smaller man moaned into the kiss, encircling his arms around Arthur’s waist.

“I’ve missed this; it has been so long since I could see you like this.”

“Far too long,” Arthur agreed. He caressed Gawain’s soft pale cheek with his calloused hand. Gawain was far to fare for him, he thought to himself. Gawain leaned into his touch, sighing with content. 

“Shall we sit?” Arthur motioned to a clear spot between the thick trees.

“Jawohl, I brought along some spirits too.” A light flickered through Gawain’s dark green eyes, as he pulled a flask from his inner coat pocket. 

Arthur spread out a thick blanket on the frozen ground. “Of course you would,” he said settling onto the blanket. He held out his hand for Gawain to take, pulling his lover down to join him. Gawain accepted it and settled in next to Arthur, reveling in his body heat. Arthur was like a sun, constantly radiating such a pleasurable warmth, despite the frigidness of the Russian terrain. 

“Hand it over, you sneaky bastard.” Arthur motioned for the flask, laughing as he did so, and unscrewed the lid. He knocked the metallic flask back and took a swig, a bitter expression settling across his features.

“What?” Gawain asked, confused.

“Vodka? I’m not drinking this Russian piss!” Arthur chided Gawain, shoving the flask back to him. “Ugh,” he stared at the flask as if it was the dirtiest thing he’d ever seen. 

“It’s the only goddamn thing that won’t freeze out here!” Gawain nearly yelped.

“Quiet!” Arthur shushed Gawain. “You don’t want anyone to find us do you?”

“No, no.” Gawain couldn’t keep from laughing. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so frightened.”

Arthur laughed. “What I wouldn’t give to get out of this bloody ice country. If we were back in Berlin, I’d take you out dancing.”

“And then we’d most certainly get caught. You wouldn’t dare take me out publically.” Gawain was shocked at the idea that Arthur would take another man out publically. Certainly he didn’t mean that much to Arthur, it had to be the vodka talking.   
This was the 1940’s. God only knows what would happen to them if they got caught out ‘together’ in public. They’d probably be arrested! Gawain giggled to himself at the image of Arthur in handcuffs. 

“Oh, Gawain, Berlin is so different. It’s nothing like your little old Freising. It’s a real city, an artistic city, I’m sure we’d be fine.”

“I hardly believe that to be true. People’s perceptions of our relationship would be about as icy as this damn country.”

“It would be worth it for you,” Arthur cupped Gawain’s chin in his hand and kissed him tenderly. 

The two chatted, curled up against each other until dawn broke over the mountains and they were forced to return to their camps.

***

“You were out late.” Kay quirked an eyebrow speculatively at Gawain.

“Hm…?” Gawain mumbled in response, lost in thoughts of the previous night. 

“You were out late Herr Gefreiter…was everything ok?”

“Oh, yes, yes, everything was fine Herr Obersoldat, I just wandered a bit too far.”

“Did you find anything interesting?” Kay was suspicious, to say the least, of Gawain’s lengthy disappearance. 

Kay was ever suspicious of Gawain, it was no secret amongst their troop, but everyone knew it was due to his jealousy over the young Gawain getting the Gefreiter position over himself. He was a senior soldier after all, but nevertheless Gawain was the one in charge. 

“Are you interrogating me, Herr Obersoldat?” Gawain emphasized his title with a sneer. “I told you, I went out for a walk. I couldn’t take anymore of Lancelot’s drunkenness. I shouldn’t have to explain myself to you and you know that.” Gawain turned on his heels and walked past Kay to the small grouping of other men and began to prepare for their day’s trek towards Stalingrad. 

Kay scoffed, but no one was around to here, as Gawain had already stridden past him. 

“That damn, cocky, son of a…” Kay growled to himself. 

***

Nearing the City of Ravninnyy

Ravninnyy could be seen a few kilometers northwest of where the squad was setting up base for the night. The soldiers had marched seven hours on foot through frigid Russian territory. The men were numb with cold and exhaustion. 

“Galahad,” called Obersoldat Kay, “Take Lancelot with you and go gather up some wood for a fire. Stabsgefreiter Gareth, live up to your title for once and prepare the rations.” 

Kay commanded the entry-men with little hesitation. He felt powerful in his Obersoldat position, but at the end of the day he had to answer to Herr Gefreiter Gawain. 

“Ay, Herr Gefreiter, is there anything else you would like us to get done?”

“Nein,” replied Gawain, “I entrust that you, a commanding officer, are more than capable to prepare camp and dinner for the night Herr Obersoldat.”

The comment stung Kay like a slap across the face and to make matters worse Gawain walked past him ending the conversation there.

“Of course, I’m capable. He has no respect for me.” Kay thought to himself. “As if an Obersoldat couldn’t handle the ‘wifely duties’ of war.”

The disinterest expressed by the Gefreiter towards the men was growing every day. This infuriated Kay. If it weren’t for the other men, he wasn’t sure how he would cope with Gefreiter. He hated feeling inadequate and incapable of fixing the situation. If only he had been promoted to Gefreiter instead of Gawain.

If you asked Kay, he would say that he was much more qualified than Gawain for the Gefreiter position, however the Obergefreiter seemed to have a soft spot for him. Maybe soft spot was to lenient of a term. The Obergefreiter seemed to be infatuated with Gawain, much to Kay’s disdain.

“Herr Obersoldat,” Galahad called “We collected the wood and now Lancelot is getting the fire ready for dinner.” Galahad looked to the left of Kay and then to the right. “What are you doing out here Herr Obersoldat?”

“I was just talking to your Gefrei-…” Kay swiveled, searching for his superior officer. “Where has he run off to now?” mumbled Kay. 

Galahad stared at Kay blankly, feeling quite awkward in the growing silence. “Is there anything else you would like me to do Herr Obersoldat?”

“N-…Actually, yes, go help Lancelot with the fire and Gareth with the rations. I’ll be over shortly; I’m just going to scout the area a bit.”

***

Gawain had left his men to set up camp and gone off in search of Arthur. There was a rustling in the bushes to his left. It caught his attention immediately and adrenaline began to pump through him. 

“Roter Löwe?” He called softly. 

He stopped immediately upon hearing a metallic click. 

“Who’s there?” Gawain spoke fluently in Russian tongue. 

A throaty chuckled came from the bushes. “Of course you would speak Russian, you German swine,” the man responded bitterly. 

An enemy Russian soldier emerged from the brush, a rifle in his hands, leveled at Gawain. Gawain’s breath caught in his throat. He raised his hands over his head to show he meant no harm. 

“Not even going to fight back?” The soldier taunted. “That’s no fun. I like my kills with a little more fight in them.” He lowered his weapon. “What do you say to a duel?”

“Go on,” Gawain kept his arms held high, but never took his eyes off the enemy. 

“We’ll fight like men—hand to hand,” a smirk creeped onto the Russian’s face and his eyes glowed with a dark excitement. 

“I would be honored,” Gawain replied coyly. “What exactly are the rules for our duel?”

“A smart question,” the Russian cast aside his weapon. “It shall be a fair fight.” As he spoke, he removed his gloves.

Gawain was tense, nerves bordering on fear. “You needn’t doubt my integrity Mudak.” Gawain spat the word, intending to rile up his opponent. 

The Russian responded exactly as Gawain anticipated he would. He swung his right fist aiming for Gawain’s temple. Gawain narrowly dodge and took two paces back on the icy ground. 

“Damn Fritz,” the Russian swore at Gawain, readying himself. 

The Russian attacked again this time dodging right and then swinging with his left fist. His fist collided squarely on Gawain’s jaw. The blow caused Gawain to stumble a bit. Once Gawain steadied himself, he lunged at the other man, pushing him to the ground. Gawain placed his forearm against the man’s throat, pinning him.

The Russian smirked, shoving Gawain off, and rolling on top of him. Gawain drew his legs in and kicked the man back. The smirk from the man’s face was gone and his eyes were darkened. He withdrew a knife from his coat and began to circle Gawain.   
“I thought we had a fair fight here?” Gawain questioned, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. 

The Russian responded, swinging the blade at Gawain, slicing through his wool coat and through the flesh on his arm. Gawain hissed, cursing inaudibly at himself. That slash was certain to leave a nasty gash on his upper arm.  
The blade grazed Gawain again, this time on his torso, he was struggling to focus on the fight the pain ebbing through his body. 

Gawain dropped to the ground and swung his legs around, grounding his opponent as well. He took the opportunity to snag the knife, while the Russian was caught off guard. Twisting the handle in his palm, he plunged the dagger into the flattened hand of his opponent. The Russian cried out in pain and backhandedly slapped Gawain off. 

Gawain was dizzy, his wounds profusely bleeding, the blood loss was causing him to lose focus on the battle at hand. The Russian slowly withdrew his blade from his hand and threw it at Gawain—missing. 

Gawain scrambled towards the weapon. Upon seizing it, Gawain staggered into a standing position, and slowly approached the Russian who was cradling his hand. Gawain twisted the handle of the blade in his hand and thrust it into the temple of the Russian.  
Gawain dropped to his knees, before the fallen man, breathing heavily. Tears pricked his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. His wounds bled in a puddle beneath him and his heart was pounding. 

He cursed himself for wandering off and was afraid of who might come looking for his Russian friend. Gawain struggled to gather himself, slowly standing up, and leaning on a nearby tree for support. 

A crunching of leaves caught his attention, pulling him from his cloudy thoughts. He frantically searched the wood around him, unaware that he was holding his breath in anticipation. 

Arthur emerged from the trees to the right and, upon seeing Gawain bloody and bruised, froze.

“Gawai-… Grüne Riese, what has happened to you?” Arthur’s roar, caused Gawain to jump.

Gawain sighed, releasing his pent up breath, immediately soothed by his native tongue. “R-roter…” He stuttered and then collapsed.

“Ach, Liebling.” Arthur softened, rushing towards his wounded lover. “How did this happen?” He asked as he cupped Gawain in his arms, taking inventory of the smaller man’s wounds.   
Gawain coughed, hacking up blood in the process.

“It was a Russian.” He explained through gritted teeth. “A damn, M-mudak.” 

He motioned his arm in the general direction of the deceased man, wincing in pain, from the wound on his upper arm. Arthur glanced in the direction and hissed.

“They will pay for this, mein Liebling.” Arthur assured Gawain. “But first we need to get you cleaned up and safe back at your camp and then I’ll come back to take care of the body.”

“I-I can help you Arthur.”

“Shh. Don’t use my name—ever! You’ve done enough. What the hell were you doing out here anyway? We weren’t supposed to meet until nightfall.”  
Gawain coughed, spitting up more blood. 

“Never mind. We will discuss this later. Can you walk?” There was no response from Gawain. Arthur shook him lightly “Can you walk?” He repeated. Still no answer.

“Scheiβe,” Arthur swore under his breath. Gawain had passed out. Arthur had no choice but to carry him back to the camp his men had set up. 

***

“Lance, look!” Galahad pointed at a man approaching in the distance. The sun was setting and it was becoming very difficult to see. 

“Grab, your gun,” Lancelot commanded Galahad and the boy did as he was told. With his rifle aimed and his finger on the trigger he awaited Lancelot’s call. 

“Wait!” Arthur bellowed.

“Herr Obergefreiter?” Galahad said shocked and lowered his weapon. “Lance that’s Herr Obergefreiter’s voice. What would he be doing here?”

“And what is he carrying?” Asked Lancelot.

“Fetch the medic,” Arthur yelled, hurrying faster towards the men.

“Th-the medic, why?” asked Galahad.

“Just do as he’s commanded!” Shouted Lancelot.

***

It was a long night for Gawain’s squad as they fought to quell the bleeding from Gawain’s wounds. He had a deep gash in his upper left arm, another across the left side, just below his rib cage. By the rise of dawn, the struggle was over and Gawain and his men could rest.

They wouldn’t be leaving the next morning as they had planned. Gawain’s wounds were too severe and he would need to rest for at least a few days according to their medic.

***

“I knew he had no business being in the woods.” Sir Kay was at it again, badmouthing his superior. “What the hell was he thinking, he’s too damn cocky. I’m surprised it hasn’t bit him in the arsch yet.”

“Maybe they tricked him,” offered Galahad.

“What do you mean, boy?” Herr Obersoldat Kay snapped, annoyed at the intrusion on their conversation.

“Maybe the Russians lured him out there. They are sneaky rotten bastards after all, like rats.”

“Shut up,” said Lancelot, hitting Galahad on the back of the head. “The Gefreiter is smarter than that.”

“Is he?” Kay jumped at his own question, which wasn’t meant to be vocalized. The two entry-men stared at him wide-eyed in shock. 

“I would like to think I am.” Gawain spoke up from behind the small group.

The three men, spun around to face Gawain. 

“He-he didn’t mean it Herr Gefreiter.”

“Easy Galahad, I know that Herr Obersoldat meant no harm. But really, Kay, if you have an issue, take it up with me. Not with these two.” Gawain’s darkened eyes bore into Kay. 

***

Outside the City of Vasilyevka

Four squadrons of Heer soldiers had met up outside the Russian city of Vasilyevka. They would march from there together to Stalingrad over the next two days.

“Glad to see you are looking better Herr Gefreiter,” praised the Obergefreiter. 

Gawain smiled back at Arthur. “I’m feeling much better.”

“I hope the day wasn’t too hard for you.” Arthur gently patted Gawain’s back. 

The smaller man sighed. “What? You mean our nine hour walk?” Gawain chuckled. “We managed. Besides you needn’t worry about me Herr Obergefreiter, I’m tougher than I look.”

“I miss Berlin.” Arthur sighed, abruptly changing the subject. 

“You northerners are spoiled Arthur,” Gawain teased. “Though, I’ll admit, it never got this cold in Bayern, either.”

***

That night as Arthur slept in his tent nestled among the other troops, his sleep was anything but restful. He tossed and turned, tormented by nightmares. 

The first nightmare was of their feet all freezing to ice and breaking off, leaving them stranded in the middle of enemy territory, paralyzed. 

Arthur awoke, frightened and sweating, his head pounding. He blamed his tormented sleep on not being able to see Gawain that evening. There were too many others around for them to stand a chance of finding anywhere peaceful to hide away for a few hours. Besides, he was the Obergefreiter, and he would be needed at camp to coordinate the group move that was to start the next day. 

“No rest for the wicked,” Arthur mumbled to himself, rolling over on his cot. Eventually Arthur fell asleep again, only to be plagued by another horrible dream.

This next dream was far more specific, far more personal. Arthur and the four troops had made it to Stalingrad, but the battle was not in their favor. The streets around him were littered with bodies and he could hear the cries of young men dying.   
Out of the corner of his eye he saw young Galahad blown wide open, bleeding out into the street, and Lancelot screaming over his body, falling to his knees at his fallen brother’s side.

Frantically he began to search for Gawain. A hundred feet in front of him, he saw Gawain get gunned down by a sniper. It was like watching in slow motion as Gawain flailed back, crying out in agony, before collapsing to the ground.   
Arthur could swear he heard Gawain cry out his name. The sensation ached within him. Arthur could hear the slowing of his lover’s heartbeat.

“No,” voiced Arthur, but no sound escaped his lips. “No,” he cried, but he was voiceless. No one could hear him.

Arthur couldn’t bear to look at it any longer, but even when he closed his eyes, it was still there. Gawain’s blood was every, it seeped through the stony road and into his clothes. It was slick and cold.   
He tried to move, to get up, to get to Gawain, but he was stuck. He couldn’t feel his legs; he couldn’t feel anything for that matter. He struggled and thrashed, but couldn’t get to Gawain.

“Arthur!” 

A voice yelled out to him, but from where? It sounded so distant, so foggy. He frantically looked around, calling back “Gawain…”

“Arthur!” Hands were on him shaking him. He sat fully upright, with terror, to see Pecivale at his side. He was drenched in sweat, it soaked through his clothes and sheets. Percivale looked concerned.   
“Wh-what are you doing here?” 

“You were having a nightmare,” Percivale replied, looking concerned. “I could hear your fit from the next tent over. I thought I should wake you before you woke anyone else.”  
“It…it was just a dream,” Arthur sighed with relief. “Thank you, Percy.”

“Is everything all right Herr Obergefreiter?”

“Yes, now it is. It was just a bad dream Percy. I’m fine. Thank you for waking me up.”

Percivale straightened himself. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

“No, thank you, you can return to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that Percivale left Arthur alone in his darkened tent. Arthur decided to give up on sleep. He couldn’t shake the sight of Gawain from the nightmare. There would be no possibility of more sleep after that.

He crawled out of bed and noticed just how soaked with sweat his underclothes were. He dawned a new set of underclothes before changing into his uniform and immediately pulling on his thick wool coat. He would never adjust to these frigid temperatures.   
He set down at his planning table and lit a gasoline lamp. He pulled out a weathered journal and began to right down his dreams. 

Arthur often had strangely vivid dreams and each time he would journal them so that he could help himself keep track of them and maybe reflect on them later if he felt the need to.

He took a swig of whiskey from the bottle on the table, not bothering with a glass. This was not a glass kind of night. He would be careful not to drink himself into a stupor though, he was expected to be in his right mind come sunrise to lead the men towards Stalingrad. 

Stalingrad—he shuttered at the thought of that city. “It’s just a nightmare,” he reminded himself aloud verbally, “just a nightmare.”

***

Arthur slowly began to drift back to sleep at his planning table. Images of the Stalingrad dream were swirling around his subconscious and he roughly roused himself from his semi-sleep state.

“I have to get to Gawain,” he thought to himself. 

Arthur’s dreams had a tendency to come true, his mother claimed it was a gift from God, his prophetic dreams. 

Once when he was a little boy, he dreamt that demons crawled out from the factories and devoured his dog. The next day he found his dog, dead, on the doorstep. 

Or the time he dreamt that he would be late to school the day of soccer tryouts and not make the team. Sure enough, there was a mechanical malfunction with the trolley, and he had to walk to school, making him miss the tryouts. 

Sluggishly he began to pull together his journals, the more he woke up, the quicker he began to move. At this point he was frantically rushing. Grabbing a change of clothes, some rations, water, anything he could fit into a knapsack. 

They were going to run away together—to be together forever. There was no way he could allow himself to take the men towards Stalingrad after the dream he’d just had…take Gawain to Stalingrad. 

He had to hurry, had to get to Gawain before sun up, before people would be awake. They couldn’t be seen. Running away would be treason and treason was punishable by death. 

Arthur saw the scene before them, getting caught, the shame. Gawain would mostly like be shot to death right there and Arthur would be shipped back to Berlin to be formally punished. He couldn’t bare it, but this was the only option.

Gawain was not going to Stalingrad.

***

“Gawain,” Arthur whispered as he fervently shook the sleeping man’s shoulder. “Gawain, please wake up!”

“W-wha,” mumbled a half awake Gawain. 

“We have to go,” Arthur was struggling to keep his voice down, the urgency in him building. 

“Go? Go where? What…?” Gawain struggled to understand what was happening as he sluggishly returned to consciousness. 

“Get up!” Arthur commanded. “Now is not the time for questions. You are going to get up, get dressed in something warm, and come with me.”

Finally awake enough to sense the urgency in Arthur’s voice, Gawain began to panic. “What’s wrong?” 

The look on Arthur’s face was dangerously serious, it sent a shiver to Gawain’s core. Without further questions, Gawain dressed himself.

“Follow me and be quiet,” Arthur stepped out of Gawain’s tent, holding the flap open for him. 

Gawain hissed in the cold morning air and Arthur draped a second coat over his shoulders, before taking his hand into his own. Arthur led Gawain into the woods. They would be safer there. 

Safe—Arthur laughed at the word; they would never be safe after they deserted. Arthur wondered how he got here. How had he let himself get into this position?

Gawain squeezed the larger man’s hand. He could feel tension in the air and was still perplexed as to what they were doing outside so early alone.

That was all it took to remind Arthur of what he was doing, why this was the only option, and why it was worth more than anything in the world. Gawain was worth more than anything. 

***

The two men trudged through the freshly fallen snow for nearly two hours, before Gawain finally spoke up. 

“A-Arthur,” he hesitated, “What exactly are we doing out here and where the hell are we going?” Gawain stopped walking and pulled Arthur around to face him. 

Arthur hated to see Gawain so panicked. Gawain had a nickname amongst the men. They called him Gawain the Good. Gawain the Honorable. Arthur was horrified at how he might react to his desertion plan. He feared Gawain would be angry, leave him, go back to the camp and meet his end in Stalingrad. 

Arthur didn’t care at this point if Gawain wanted to be with him or not, but he refused to let the younger man meet his end at that blasted city. He deserved so much more than that. So much more than this godforsaken war.   
Arthur wanted to give him a happy and full life, it didn’t matter if he was in it, so long as Gawain was happy and healthy. 

“Arthur,” Gawain practically yelled, pulling the larger man from his thoughts. 

“We’re…we’re leaving.” Arthur’s voice was defeated.

“Leaving?” The shock in Gawain’s voice was clear. “Why are we leaving? What about everyone else?” He was panicking. He took a few steps back from Arthur, confused. 

“I can’t let you go into that city,” Arthur spat his words before softening a bit. “I don’t want…I can’t bear to lose you Gawain. I love you, more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and I need you. And I’m afraid that if you go to Stalingrad that will be the end of it. So please, I’m begging you, run away with me.”

“Arthur, you,” tears pricked the corners of Gawain’s eyes, “you…you love me?”

Gawain’s voice cracked. He never thought he would actually hear those words come out of Arthur’s mouth. 

They had been ‘rendezvousing’ now, for nearly two years, but this was war, this was the Eastern Front, certainly it was nothing more than lonely and lust fueled nights. 

But Arthur loved him. Gawain fought back the tears, but they came anyway, pouring down his cheeks. He was going to commit one of the worst offenses an officer could. He was going to forsake his title, his life, his reputation.   
But it was all worth it for this one man. 

Arthur made him whole, had reminded him of his humanity in his darkest hours, and made him happy. How could he turn down this man’s offer to run away? He knew he couldn’t. 

“Alright…let’s do it” there was excitement in Gawain’s voice. It caught Arthur off guard, but he was more than grateful. 

“Your serious?” Arthur had to be certain. 

“Yes, yes, let’s go, before anyone see’s us.” Gawain grabbed a hold of Arthur’s hand again. 

Arthur turned ready to sprint towards freedom with Gawain through the woods. 

“W-wait.” 

“What?” Arthur gasped, nerves hitting him all over again.

Gawain gave a lopsided smile and Arthur melted. He loved everything about this man. 

“I love you, too.”


End file.
